Monday, July 21, 2014

Camp Host Nazi

We look forward to it every summer. Our annual camping trip on the lake surrounded by mountains and good friends. Letting the elements run free in the elements. We've been doing this so long we know exactly what to expect and we plan for it. Bringing extra food, sunscreen, towels and life vests. Except we didn't expect her. Doreen. Camp host and resident camp Nazi for the summer.

A rare sighting of Camp Nazi in her Nazimobile

After we had meticulously sprawled our tents between our campsites and the kids set up their hammocks to sleep among the trees and under the stars, she appeared. Spewing her camp regulations and shoving a passive aggressive printed copy of them in my friend's hands. We'd need to move our tents. And no hammocks. We'd have to create a tent city with zero lot lines on our pad. Somehow this didn't blight the neighborhood. Nor did the blaring country music. Or dog owners that neglected to pick up their dogs' crap. Or the fact that there wasn't a non-smoking section.

How could this be?

None of this tent pad nonsense was enforced before.

It didn't make any sense.

The way regulations rarely do.

Our thoughts on this bullshit is best represented by a photo of my friend Ken holding the regulations.

Which we used for kindling soon thereafter.

And then we handled the situation like adults. We took to the lake for happy hour and talked about Doreen. Pranks that we could pull, like TPing her camper. Or putting honey around it to attract the bears. We came up with condescending names for her. Like Latrine. And Doron. But in the end, we did nothing. Because we're mature adults. Most of the time anyway.

The next morning, after that first cup of crappy camp coffee, the walk of shame to the commode to excavate one's bowels began. And what's worse than taking a shit in a camp toilet already filled with shit, flies and the odors of a month's worth or more of the shits of strangers?

Not having anything to wipe your ass with because the camp host, that doron, Latrine, didn't stock the toilet paper.

We so should have TPed her camper!

To read more about last year's camping adventure you can check out So Campy here.

LinkWithin

About me

I'm Marie, author of the book, Rock the Kasbah: A Memoir of Misadventure. Not to be confused with the movie or Zooey Deschanel. I'm a forty-something writer, dancer, world traveler, wife and mother of four who moved back to Colorado from living abroad in Morocco a few years ago. Oh and did I mention I have some serious social anxiety? And that I screw things up a lot? Like a whole lot.